


Red String of Fate

by courtwrites



Category: Cloak & Dagger (TV 2018), Marvel
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Canon, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Author Projecting onto Tandy Bowen, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Past Drug Use, Past Rape/Non-con, Police Brutality, Possibly Unrequited Love, Racism, Red String of Fate, Teen Angst, Underage Drug Use, Unhappy Ending, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-09 18:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18922699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtwrites/pseuds/courtwrites
Summary: She swears she hears the ripping in her ears when it happens, when the invisible thread connecting them is harshly broken. They're torn apart just as how their powers once threw them away from each other.In the midst of all the chaos, within the current hell breaking loose, she distantly remembers hearing of the Red String of Fate. She had briefly picked up an intriguing-looking book with two hands linked together by a fine piece of red material as the cover in a house she was stealing from once upon a time, allowed herself to scan her eyes over the fine print on the first few pages, and now that concept was back in her head, making itself known at the worst time possible.Legend had it that the thread could not be detected or seen, and no amount of distance or time could break it. The concealed piece of said thread could get coiled, tangled in a mess of knots, stretched out, and then entangled again, but it could never break.***The legend was wrong, though, because Tandy Bowen swears she can pinpoint the moment her heart snaps into two and only one half remains; she swears she can hear the sound made when the thread breaks.





	Red String of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> *Me, walking into the C&D fandom to contribute to the angst as womp womp plays while I get my grubby, angst-loving hands all over tyrandy*
> 
> Wow- It's been a hot minute since I've published anything for others to see, but I'm back in the game! (I think?) This is my first time writing this pairing, so please be aware of that in case this is terribly OOC for our beloved divine pairing. A few things: 1). it's up to you to interrupt if Tandy dies at the end, but I intended it to be read as her just losing her powers and 2). yes, the dialogue was inspired from the canon script. I tried to handle this topic as diligently as possible, but please let me know if you think there's anything at all I could've done better! This topic is very important to me, and I do not take it lightly at all. Police brutality towards POC is disgustingly real, and this is just my small and insignificant way of coping with it. Without further ado, enjoy, and brace yourselves.
> 
> Listened to while writing this: I'll Never Love Again - Lady Gaga. 
> 
> ***
> 
> Note for a special someone:
> 
> This is dedicated to /my/ IRL Cloak, because I don't know where I'd be without him... and I never wanna find out. You're my protector, my one person, my hope, my best friend, my port in a storm, my hero. I love you. ♡

_She swears she hears the ripping in her ears when it happens, when the invisible thread connecting them is harshly broken._ They're torn apart just as how their powers once threw them away from each other. In the midst of all the chaos, within the current hell breaking loose, she distantly remembers hearing of the Red String of Fate. She had briefly picked up an intriguing-looking book with two hands linked together by a fine piece of red material as the cover in a house she was stealing from once upon a time, allowed herself to scan her eyes over the fine print on the first few pages, and now that concept was back in her head, making itself known at the worst time possible. 

**Legend had it that the thread could not be detected or seen, and no amount of distance or time could break it. The concealed piece of said thread could get coiled, tangled in a mess of knots, stretched out, and then entangled again, but it could never break.**  

The legend was wrong, though, because Tandy Bowen swears she can pinpoint the moment her heart snaps into two and only one half remains; she swears she can hear the sound made when the thread breaks. A bullet flew through the air, and two more followed suit. All three of them went through Tyrone Johnson’s chest. Her connection and tie to him falters, and it feels like a part of her has died. She knows something is wrong before she even sees him go down, because she feels it in her very core. Her breath comes to a halt, her vision blurs, and she doesn't even know she's crying until the sensation of air being ripped from her lungs becomes too painful to be ignored, the feeling as if imaginary walls were closing in around her simultaneously becoming known, too.

She feels it, then... cold, wet tears sliding down her cheeks. The smell of salt invades her senses, and she wants to scream, run and get help, fight, do  _something_ , but she can't. She feels frozen in place and she has never felt more useless.

_Is this what it feels like to lose a soulmate?_

***

_"NOPD, Freeze!" boomed a strong, authoritative, male voice. Both teenagers came to a standstill, neither daring to move a muscle. Had it been a typical armed burglar or some supervillain, they'd already be fighting in sync with one another, her throwing daggers of light, and him moving in shadows of darkness. They'd take down the threat together and be on their merry way, but this wasn't what they were ordinarily up against._

_"Put your hands in the air where I can see them, right now." The same voice demanded, and the sound of a gun clicking into place could be heard. 'We're not the bad guys!' she wanted to say, but didn't. They had been out doing what they normally did when not busy with the tasks of their own personal lives, fighting crime, when this... situation occurred. This was the first time they were faced with something like this, the first time a person of the law was stopping their acts of vigilante heroism. Sweat began to build at the base of Tandy's neck, and when she stole a glance at Tyrone, she could see his arms shaking where they were held in the air. His black cloak flowed freely around him, swirling in the wind._

_"Ty-" Tandy began, cut off by the officer behind them yelling._

_"Nobody move!" he called out, the sound of his footsteps getting closer._

_"Tyrone-" Tandy looked over to him worriedly, trying to find guidance and reassurance as to what to do._

_"Stay calm." he muttered, but she could see tears building in his eyes. She knew this was hard for him, it always was. Tandy couldn't imagine going through what he did when he lost Billy. He was only a child when his older brother was murdered in cold blood in front of him. Just the sound of sirens passing by would make him flinch sometimes, and he'd forget how to breathe more times often than not when in the presence of police. Tandy knew this, and she did her best to help him. She could never personally understand what he went through, what he'll continue to go through as a black person in America, but she did have her own shitty experiences with the feds._

_They had never done anything good for her, for her or her mother. When her father died, they took everything they considered 'evidence' from her and her mother's property, ransacking through their home. They reduced a child and single mother to a below working class status, never giving them any closure about the shady business that Roxxon was. They never did anything when she was roughed up by her ex-boyfriends, just like they never did anything when her mother was hurt by her husband, Tandy's own father. She knew that if she'd told them what had happened that night after the ballet play, they'd somehow blame that on her, too. 'What were you wearing? Did you consume any alcohol beforehand? Are you sure it happened that way? Did you want to have sex with him and then back out at the last moment? Did you do something to provoke him into doing this?'_

_"We're just-" Tandy moved to explain, disregarding Tyrone's advice and ignoring the cop's command._

_Before she was even finished turning around to face the man, she saw his finger going for the trigger._

***

“TY!” she cries out in utter despair as the scene before her unravels, her own voice sounding shrill; unrecognizable. Her entire body glows for the first time in her life as the power she has inside overtakes her. Her skin catches ablaze with blinding, ethereal light. She feels it swallows her whole, and it _burns_. God, it **_burns_**. It's consuming, the pain she feels. The lightforce rips through her mercilessly with the force of a thousand suns, her blood feeling like molten in her veins. There’s vile in the back of her throat, and she's vaguely aware of her heart pounding in her ears yet she’s not sure it’s even still beating. ' _Is his?'_ she thinks in the back of her mind, and that one thought is what sets her off. It kicks her into action, and before she knows it, she's attacking relentlessly.Blind with rage and now unhinged, she ruthlessly flings out daggers left and right, not caring where they landed. 

A sphere of white explodes into a wave of energy as she sobs for the one she loves. The blonde screams so loud, so uncontrolled, that she feels  _fear_ somewhere deep down inside her for anyone who dared to get in her way. Tandy had never been protective of anyone as a general rule, but with Tyrone, she was different. Some could say it's because she's selfish, that she knows they're connected, so she's worried about saving her own ass, but she knows the truth. The truth is that she loves him, and he makes her a better person. He's her favorite person, the comforting, gentle darkness she had gotten so acclimated to having in her life. Tyrone's powers weren't a testimony of him, he was light, pure in all its forms. He was the personification of hope, perseverance, and strength. She could never be like him, and she owed everything to him for being what she wasn't, for doing what she couldn't. She owed her life to the boy she met that day on the beach in an oversized hoodie. 

Right now, that unplayable debt seemed to be the least of her worries, though. The sound of tires screeching against asphalt catch her attention, and she realizes the cop that shot him has driven off. Sirens blare as he retreats, and she considers chasing after him. She could go after him, kill him now, but Tyrone was bleeding, _too much, too fast,_ and she just couldn't bring herself to leave him. She screams in frustration as her chance at revenge gets away. Her eyes land upon him, finally, and she sees him lying flat on his back, crimson liquid pooling out around him. Something in her aches, and a fear she's never voiced aloud becomes at risk for being a reality.

“ _Tyrone_ ,” she chokes out, rushing to him. The sound of the bullets leaving the cop's gun still echo in her ears. Not one, not two, but three. All in an innocent man. Not even a man, no— not yet, a teenager. An innocent, black teenager. She falls to her knees ungracefully, the repeating thought of _'this can't be happening, this can't be happening, this can't be happening'_ replacing her ability to think straight. He doesn't even move.

“Ty?!” she repeats in a stammer, that nickname never having such a bitter taste in her mouth. It smells like copper, overwhelmingly so, and the only response she gets from him is a garbled splutter; blood leaking out of the sides of his mouth.

“Hey, hey, hey,” she tries to soothe as he begins to choke on his own blood, her pale hand slipping around the back of his neck where she supported his head from being kept off the ground.

“Come on, get up—“ her voice betrays her, breaking mid-sentence and giving away the fearless facade she always wore. There’s no hiding the tears in Tandy Bowen’s eyes, for once she can't mask her pain. She cradles his taller frame close to her own, desperately trying to hold onto him, to keep him conscious. Her hands hover over where the source of blood is coming from, and with a rush of adrenaline and the shattering fear of losing him, she presses down on it— hard, wanting to stop the blood loss. 

_Was this their faith all along?_  

She watches more red spill out of his lips she never once got to kiss, and she doesn't want to believe it, she _can't_ believe it.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no. Come on—“ she begs when he says nothing, does nothing, her own teeth gritting in anguish.

"Tyrone!" she shouts, needing to get his attention.

“T-they shot me.” he says in shock, voice wavering, his brown eyes full of just as much disbelief as hers.

“I know. Stay with me, okay? Come on, get up. Come on, Ty!” He coughs up more blood. All she can think about is seeing her father's lifeless body in the car that night; the way the blood tainted the water, the time her mother slapped her with one of her bulky rings on for stealing back her own prescription bottles so hard that she bled, the times her exes were just a little too rough with her and how she was left watching the blood look almost pink under the water of the shower as it went down the drain, and the time she stabbed a man for trying to force himself on her. None of the pain she experienced in those moments compare to this.

“Ty!” she sobs, sounding winded as she comes to a harsh realization: she’ll have to do this without him. How could she protect New Orleans without him? They were cloak AND dagger, not just dagger. There was no her without him. Without him, she was only one half of the divine pairing. And what good was that? She didn’t want to do this without him, she couldn't. He was her cloak, her hope, her other half, her soulmate— even if his love for her was different than hers for him, her protector, her one person, her best friend, her port in a storm, her hero.

“I can’t do this...!” She wept over him, seeing darkness spill out. It leaked alongside with the blood that was still pouring out of him, and all she could think was, I can’t save him.

_I can’t save him._

_I can’t save him._

**_I can’t save him like he saved me._ **

Tyrone saved Tandy, both figuratively and quite literally. He was her home, her source of stability, the one who balanced her out. He was her one chance at happiness, her chance at a life with love, and he was leaving her. He pulled her from the ocean that day and whisked her to shore, he gave her life meaning besides crushing up tablets and snorting them, besides stealing things she didn't need just in order to feel something in her empty chest. Black tendrils curled around him, covering him like a blanket as if he was being put to rest for the last time. The thought of him six feet underground in a casket flashed through her mind, and she wanted to believe it was them touching that did it, but she knew better. This wasn't just her worst fear, it was really happening. Tyrone's abilities weren't to blame, because this was the cold, harsh reality.

“I can’t do this without you!” She pleaded, praying to God—any God(s)—that this wasn’t the end. This couldn’t be the end of them, not when they never really begun. There’s no hope for her without him, and that proves itself to be true as the light under her skin fades into nothing.

“Tyrone, I love you, and I know you’re with Evita, but Ty, I… I love you," she says seriously despite it sounding rushed, "I have for a long time, and I- I should've told you sooner, but you're my _best friend_ and I just-“ she suddenly stops talking, seeing his eyes close. 

“No...” She lets out, voice croaking. Her throat is raw and stripped from shouting she doesn't remember, but that pain is ignored. The pain she feels most of all is the one in her chest. She tries shaking him, _again_ and **_again_** , but he never comes back. The thread doesn't stay together, its snapped. The bond they had was gone, and Tandy was alone. There was never any exchange of last words, only a shocked 'he shot me' from someone who had watched the same thing happen to his older brother, and a cut off declaration of love. The only 'crime' the Johnson brothers had committed was being a darker skin tone, and Tandy had never felt more sick.

She thinks back to when she saw his hopes: death by cop, and her stomach turns violently. 'It should've been me' is the only thing she can think through the static in her mind. She couldn't save him, so him being dead is her fault. If she hadn't turned, if she would've just listened to him _for once_ , this wouldn't have happened. it was another burden for her to carry, another guilt for her to have. She would've done anything to trade places with him, to be the one on the receiving end of that gun, to take the pain he must've felt before... before...

The luster in her eyes dies as she holds his lifeless body, and she finally understands what it means to be truly broken, to be hopeless.


End file.
